Homecoming
by Jessieness
Summary: PostHaunted. It wasn’t until I was falling asleep that night that I realized it might've been a pretty bad idea. It certainly felt like one when I woke up the next morning and saw Jesse sitting on the window seat. And this time he didn't run away.
1. Entropy

It's late, and I'm bored, so... I'm gonna do something REALLY crazy.

I know I said that Homecoming was gonna be the sequel to Sweet Misery, and all, and I was going on and on (well, at least to poor Ching) about how I wish I could just STOP everything and post it... so... In the midst of my explicit highness tonight (I was watching the Simpsons again—_its the boy band episode!—_so that's not such a surprise) I just stopped (doing my math homework) and started thinking: Well, they don't relate together THAT much.

I mean…there's hardly any info or detail at all in Homecoming that suggests it happens after Sweet Misery. Well, besides the beach scene (SPOILER ALERT).

So I decided to do it. Post Homecoming, I mean. Not my math homework (which remains unfinished) or…anything else.

And…here it is. The object of my writing affection. The only thing that I'm really proud of, besides…well…nothing, really.

The one thing that has kept me occupied throughout Biology (I _and_ II) this school year.

**….HOMECOMING.**

* * *

_For Ching._

Because a promise is a promise.

* * *

Chapter one: Entropy

I didn't see the palm trees.

Which to me; was really weird. I mean, I'm not stupid or anything. I know that palm trees don't grow _everywhere_—but I swear to God, the last time I came here; they were _all over the place_. So I got a little nervous, when I couldn't see any from the plane.

Well, what happened was, as we were starting to land—and I _still_ hadn't glimpsed any of those damn palm trees—with a burst of concern, I jumped up from my seat, calling to the flight attendant as she strolled down the ale way, "Miss! Miss! I think I have the wrong plane!"

Some would prefer that I full-on _freaked out_.

Either way, I ended up looking like a complete idiot when the stewardess turned around, and said, in this high metallic voice, like nails on a chalkboard, or something, "Sit down, young lady." And walked away.

Just like that, she walked away.

And so I did, 'sit down', I mean. Fortunately I managed to do so without slipping, though I was still studiously avoiding the gazes of the passengers around me, who were snickering quite a bit. But inside, I was fuming.

I mean, what sort of I didn't know anything until Chris turned around from the seat in front of me and said, "Relax, Hunn. It's okay."

I gave him a very peeved look. "No, it's not okay. What flight is this? Are you sure this is the 149 to Monterey?"

Chris looked at me with what could only be described as pity. "Yes, Suze. Now will you calm down? Everything is going to be fine."

Which, of course, was easy for him to say. Chris was, like usual, extremely mellow. He wasn't, like most boyfriends, the least bit worried about meeting my parents. And why would he be? He was perfect, in the truest essence of the word.

He had the highest GPA at NYU, he was graduation with honors in the spring, _and_ if that weren't enough, he had been admitted early acceptance to Brown and Shultz, one of the most prestigious law firms in the whole of Boston. He was, all in all, my mother's dream boyfriend for me. Plus he was good-looking.

What he thought he was doing, exactly, going out with a girl like me, I was going to leave to him to figure out. Because he had said he loved me—which was excruciatingly romantic—on the last day before summer. And I was happy. He was exactly what I needed to forget.

At least, until he suggested he go home with me for the summer.

Then I said nothing. I mean, there really wasn't anything I could do. Not if didn't want him to doubt our relationship. If I didn't want him to think I wasn't ready for whatever it was he had planned for us. If I didn't want to _lose him_.

Though...it would've been the truth. I wasn't ready. Chris had moved forward, all right, but he had left me behind.

It was just...I don't know. I hadn't expected this to get so serious so fast. When I had met him, the first day of my freshman year, he was so carefree. It was nice. Smart, but not annoying. Good-looking, but not intimidating. He was everything that I needed to finally move on.

And I think he knew that.

He took it slow, as if he had sensed that there was a part of me that was still broken, that there was something that I needed to let go of.

He was... patient. Never ever pressured me. Never went too far, too fast. It was always a peck on the cheek. Or the tiniest, gentlest kiss on the lips.

And I loved it. Sure, it was sort of dull... but exciting at the same time. I didn't need things to move too fast after what had happened. I was still trying to pick up the pieces. Still trying to fix up the wrecking-ball damage that had been done to my heart.

I guess that's why I didn't notice when everything had changed. I was entangled in a relationship that I couldn't keep up with. As for me, those first three months gripped me; I didn't know how to let go. Every time he kissed me it was like a bolt of lightening; I never expected it, never knew how to respond.

I needed to move on, but I didn't know how.

Things were different now. I could sense it, even if Chris wouldn't tell me anything. I could tell by the way he'd been holding my hand lately, smiling at me whenever I took a glance at his face.

I could tell by the way that he told me he loved me; soft, gentle, his voice was filled with emotion.

And it scared me. More than anything.

— — —

We were getting off the plane when I felt like I couldn't breathe. My bag was getting heavier and heavier, from hanging on my shoulder. Chris was holding my hand, talking to me, something about Friday.

I kept looking around, feeling lost. The crowds of people around me were a blur. I knew we were waiting for my mom and Andy, waiting for them to pick us up and drive us up to the house, but right there in the middle of the crowd… I felt the sudden impulse to run.

It was just...I can't explain it. Like it was just all of a sudden--too much. I could feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead, my heart was beating a thousand times a minute, Chris was talking, something about Friday.

"Come on," he said, "Suze. Let's get our luggage."

I didn't move. It was like I was paralyzed. Almost completely benumb with fear. The noises were louder and louder, I felt like I could hear every tiny detail, every action that took place. The footsteps of a stranger, the squeaking of a rolling suitcase.

"Come on," he said again. "Suze."

I couldn't do it.

I stared at him, my face blank, eyes completely expressionless, almost like I was staring at a stranger. I wasn't even really seeing him. I was seeing Jesse.

Jesse, and that time we were up on the roof. I had just finished explaining to him the situation with Michael and the angels. He was looking at me; I was just fidgeting with the tiles up there. The pine needles were poking me through the holes in my sweater.

And then he said it. "I like it much better this way."

I never asked him, what he meant.

And now it was too late.

"Suze."

I walked away. He was calling my name, over and over again. I picked up the pace. Then broke into a stride. I was running through the crowds of people, I had left my bag with Chris. He was calling my name. Everything, passports, credit cards…my identity was in that bag.

But I kept running.

I could see the exit; it's neon green sign glowing above the door. I saw it, and went for it. It wasn't that far. A few more steps and I'd be there. I ran faster, pushing my way through the hordes of people. It was close. There.

And I almost made it, if not for--

"Suze."

— — —

I stopped, dead. The voice was sweetly familiar, breaking me out of my daze and pulling me back down on my feet, back to certainty, to the kind of established order I had been seeking all these years.

There was only one person who could do that.

I turned around. "Gina!" I shrieked, and promptly threw my arms around her neck.

She stumbled back a little, surprised by my sudden outburst. "Whoa, there," she said. "Whatcha trying to do?" But not like she was mad or anything.

I let go, not at all embarrassed, I said, "That was payback, for all the letters you didn't send me."

Gina looked guilty. "Dude. My bad. It's just, you know, Jake's been having some trouble juggling school and the pizza place, so I've been helping out. I guess I never found the time."

Sleepy and Gina, much to Dopey's chagrin, were now officially a couple. An _engaged _couple, as a matter of fact. He had proposed to her in her freshman year of college, a few months after she had moved to California to attend No Cal.

The date for the wedding hadn't been set; all they knew was that there was going to be one. And considering how 'in love' they were, I wasn't about to object.

"Its okay, G. Just glad that you're happy."

She smiled. "Yeah. I guess I've finally settled down, huh?"

I nodded, taking in a good look at her. She was wearing a white cotton baby doll dress, complete with matching flip-flops and pink _Dior _bag (A/N: the one that Christina wanted for Christmas). Her hair was done up with a pink seashell clip, curling gently over her shoulders and giving her face the highly envied 'angelic' look. In the artificial light of the Monterey Airport, she carried the stance of an LA supermodel.

But then again, Gina always looked like a babe. That never changed. What was different was this strange glow in her eyes. They sparkled, wherever she looked. So serene, peaceful.

It was love. I knew it.

"So," she said, linking arms with me and dragging me over to where Chris was standing, looking over at us confusedly, "what's the rush?"

I cleared my throat uneasily. "Um," I croaked, "What do you mean?"

"Come on, I saw you, you were running like the world depended on it. Plus your face had the whole 'Jaws' look. It was not pretty." She turned and looked at me. Seriously, this time. Chris was only a few feet away.

"Simon, what gives? What's wrong?"

I could feel my face get hot. "Nothing," I muttered, "I was just looking for a bathroom."

She didn't believe me. It was obvious from the look on her face that she didn't believe me. And if that wasn't enough, the words she said next had to be, "Right…whatever. You're gonna explain it to me someday Simon, whether you want to or not."

We caught up to where he was standing, and I waved, somewhat nervously.

He rushed up to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Suze, you okay? What's going on?"

"Oh," I said, "Ummm…I was just trying to catch up to Gina, she was walking pretty fast and…" my voice trailed off as I stared at him, nodding softly, as if to back myself up.

Chris just watched me. Sort of like he was realizing something about me that he hadn't noticed before. He tilted his head, lost in thought. But only said, "Oh."

I nodded. "Yeah."

And we just stood there…until the awkward silence was interrupted—thank God—by Gina, who cleared her throat, loudly. "So, Suze…aren't you gonna make any introductions?"

Aren't you gonna make any introductions? It was like being hit off the head with a frying pan, or something. All of a sudden I was aware—truly aware—of the situation. Chris. Gina. Introductions. Right.

"Chris…this is Gina…" I mumbled feebly, gesturing towards them each other, "Gina…meet Chris."

I don't know if Gina noticed my sudden discomfort over the matter, but if she did, she did an awesome job covering for me, taking Chris' hand in almost CeeCee-like manner and saying, very professionally, "Nice to meet you. I've heard wonderful things about you."

Chris smiled, the realization already long gone. To him, everything was back to normal. Back to that wonderful little world of his, where everything was perfect. "Same with you," he said.

"So," I said, my hands in my pockets—it was strangely cold, for the middle of July—"Lets get going. Shall we?"

Gina took me by the hand, linking arms with me. "Yeah, let's get cracking, it's almost—" she gazed down at her watch, "—six. And you how your stepdad is about dinner."

Then, stopping abruptly and looking over her shoulder she said to Chris, "Well? Aren't you gonna get the bags?"

I laughed, and sent Chris an apologetic look as he fumbled around with all five of our suitcases. "Here," I said, "let me take this one." I picked up my traveling bag as he tried, with not much success to get all four cases on the pull-away cart.

Gina shot me a disapproving look. "Dude," she said, "if you're gonna date this guy, you better train him." She stared down at the hot-pink bag hanging I slung over my shoulder, "and that means there is no way you should have to carry _that_."

I poked her playfully in the stomach. "Relax, G. He's not Jake." Then, thinking for a bit about what I'd just said, I added, "well, Jake when he's around you."

And it was true. There was only one word for Sleepy's behavior when he was around my best friend;_ whipped_.

Gina smiled, "Well," she said, with a flourish of fake haughtiness, "that just means I'm doing my job."

I laughed, pulling her with me as we stepped outside the glass doors of the main entrance. I wasn't at all surprised as I felt the bright light of sun the hit us as soon as we stepped into the parking lot. I knew I had forgotten something.

And that something, I had realized, as soon as I set the three-inch heels of my Steve Maddens onto the pavement, was sunglasses.

Really. Sunglasses. Déjà vu.

"Don't worry, Simon. I brought you a pair." She handed me a pair of Ray Bans as she started towards the direction of the car. "I knew you'd forget something, traveling with Goofy over there." On the word Goofy, she turned around and gave Chris a very blatant stare.

"Hey!" I said, with some indignation, "He's not goofy, he's a very successful lawyer."

"Right," said Gina, "a 'very successful lawyer' who can't even pick up your bags without needing to be sent to the emergency room."

I looked over my shoulder towards Chris. Well, so maybe he was having a little trouble…

"I mean, jeez, Simon," she muttered tiredly, "and I thought things were bad with Jesse…"

I froze in my tracks.

"Stop it." I said, and this time there wasn't a trace of humor left in my voice.

Gina turned around and looked at me. "What? No need to be defensive, I mean, you weren't really going out with Paul, I guess."

Wait, what? I peered at her curiously, "Were you talking about Paul?"

Gina sighed, throwing her hands up. "_Yes,_ Suze. I was." She reached out and stroked the length of my arm. "You're cold…who were you thinking of?"

I felt myself turn red. Oh, Lordy.

But I shrugged it off, and started walking very quickly. And I didn't even know where we were headed. I just wanted to get the heck out of there, as soon as possible. _Of course, she said Paul_. She hadn't meant Jesse; she _knows _not to bring up Jesse. Get a grip, Simon, before they send you to therapy again.

"No, really." Gina asked, as she jogged to keep up with me, "who were you thinking of?"

"No one, G." I muttered, "Just drop it."

And immediately I began running, my bag lobbing up and down against my shoulder as I pounded on the pavement, following the direction of Lot E.

— — —

"This," said Gina, as she drummed her fingers against the dashboard, "was so not how I pictured it."

I tore my eyes from the ocean we were passing—just in time to view the sunset, a sight I had not been graced with for so long—and gave her a questioning look. "What isn't?" I asked.

"This, you," she said, "we were supposed to be back at the house half an hour ago, right now we'd be sitting down to dinner, not—" She looked around, a look of obvious dissatisfaction on her face, "stuck in traffic in this damn hick town."

I sighed, and patted her on the back, "Gina, it's fine. It's not like we've never been through this before."

"I know, but it was your special day, you know, coming back to Coolifornia, finally seeing some kin again, not to mention your much-needed meeting with your favorite friend…"

I laughed. "Well," I said, throwing her an appreciative smile, "I can still do all that, even after a traffic jam. As hard as it may be to believe, Mrs. Ackerman, the day doesn't exactly end at sunset."

"Okay, fine," she said resignedly, "but don't call me that. We're not married yet."

A heavy silence passed through the 98' Volkswagen Gina drove as we flowed to yet another stop on the highway. I took this time to turn my attention once again to the view outside the window, breathing in the ocean air through the tiny crack in the window.

Just outside the car doors lay the most beautiful sight I had seen in two years, a glorious sunset, seeming to set the sky ablaze with a mixture of red and purple. On the other side of us where a mass of rolling foothills, spotted green and covered with tiny—at least, to us—cypress trees.

And that's when it hit me, completely out of nowhere; I don't think I remembered, just how much I missed this.

Whatever it was, this strange, contented feeling that could be experienced anywhere here, even under the roof of a car. The absolutely wonderful feeling that filled my lungs as I breathed in that first breath of misty air.

This, I realized, was what New York was missing. This was why I had come home.

And it didn't even _matter_—at least, not at the moment—where we were right then. I didn't even remember, that we were way behind schedule, that Gina thought my boyfriend was a dork, or that little mishap I had experienced back there in the luggage room.

That feeling, the one I was going through, was already enough for me at that moment. And as the traffic started up again, all I could do was revel in that feeling as we drove quickly by, admiring the little shops, the palm trees, all the little things I didn't think I would see again.

I sat in the front seat of that car with a beatific smile on my face—at least, right up until Gina turned the car around and pulled into the driveway of 99 Pine Crest Road, and announced to me in this cheerful voice,

"We're home."

* * *

_Review?_

Love Jessie.

P.S. Who saw_ One Tree Hill_ tonight?


	2. Here I Am

Chapter two: Here I Am

I know what you're thinking.

Okay? Really, you don't have to elaborate. I got it, alright? I am a total hypocrite.

I don't even know what I was thinking, prattling on about palm trees and scenery and all that, because as soon as I came into contact with the hard gravel of the driveway, I knew that I wasn't going to have fun.

Oh, no. I knew exactly what this trip would be like, what kind of impact it would have on me, far worse than all those times I had accidentally stumbled upon his miniature, or blew my nose on that handkerchief by mistake. I knew, just as soon as I slung my Kate Spade messenger bag over my shoulders, that I was in for trouble.

Which was why, of course, I had tried to run.

Yeah, let me tell you. Usually, when you come close to hyperventilating, and your body has lost complete control of all your motor functions, it is not especially wise to make an attempt at a quick get-away. I'm not too certain, about the concept, having only experienced this once in my life, but I know for sure that it doesn't work, in designer shoes.

Though I guess I realized this a second too late, as I extended my right foot onto the edge of our newly mowed lawn, and immediately landed on the crisp, green grass.

"Ow."

From the backseat of the car, I could hear Chris' voice, in a worried tone, going, "Suze! You okay, there?"

I nodded, numb. I could feel the moisture of the grass beneath me, seeping into my new Club Monaco khakis. Oh great, I thought. I'm back in Carmel, sitting in front of my old house, with grass stains on my butt.

The situation didn't improve, of course, when Gina, who was busy rummaging through her bag for the house keys, burst out laughing.

I threw my bag at her. "What?" I asked, thoroughly annoyed.

Which only prompted her to laugh harder. "You!" she gasped, holding her sides, in a quite unattractive manner, "oh my—you should've seen the look on your face as you fell—it was—"

I scowled, placing my hands on my hips—which, I've noticed, doesn't look all too dignified, when you're sprawled across the ground. "I know. Stupid, right? Now help me up, or I'll tell Jake about that time in New York, when you got drunk and peed all over my mother's carpet."

Gina was up and at it like a mongoose—I had finally seen one, on the Discovery channel last week. They're right. They_ are _fast—she had pulled me up and retrieved my messenger bag faster than you could say, _Wild Life Preserve_.

"Come on, Simon. Let's get going."

Let's get going. She didn't realize of course, that my brain was already running at abouta hundred miles per hour, desperately trying to think up some clever way to _get going_, or at least, to escape my impending doom.

Instead of moving, I just sort of stood there, weighing my options. I couldn't run, sincethat didn't work, apparently, and I couldn'tjump in the car, and _drive _away; it'd been two years, since I had last sat at the wheel of a car--I'm sure you've all heard Doc's explanation of the New York subway system, so I needn't explain it to you--so the only thing I really could do was--

Gina grabbed my wrist,giving it a violent tug. "Jesus, what're you standing there, looking so dense for? We're home, get moving, I said I'd have you here by six."

She turned around, and said to Chris, rather disdainfully--her dislike for my boyfriend was obvious in her tone of voice--"Dude, get the bags."

Then she slipped the Kate Spade bag over my shoulder, and said, in an almost motherly voice, "Good. All presentable for your family."

Chris followed behind us, tugging at the suitcases as we climbed the steps of the front porch.

"Hey," he whispered, taking hold of my hand in what I suppose he thought was a reassuring manner, "you okay? You look a little pale."

I swallowed, and grave him a rueful smile. "Yeah," I croaked, and then cleared my throat, "I'm fine."

Which, of course, was a lie. I wasn't fine. Actually, I was far from it. In addition to losing control over my body functions, I had also apparently forgotten how to breathe.

Gina knocked. Once. Twice.

I don't know what I was expecting to see, when that mahogany door opened, things had changed, after all. Three years was a long time. Really, I got that.

But I certainly wasn't expecting to see my mother, who opened the door, smiling brightly in flip-flops and sweatpants, with a stomach as large as a birthday balloon.

---

Jesse was talking to me, I knew it.

I could tell from the way his voice tickled my cheek, the way his arms, which were holding my so very close to his chest, tingled, the muscles in them tightening, as I giggled, and squirmed in his embrace.

What he was whispering so tenderly into my ear, I didn't know. I wasn't listening, not really. All I could focus on was the way his forearms circled my waist, how I fit so perfectly, pressed against him. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

Jesse was talking to me, but all I could think about was how much we belonged together.

And now he was turning me around to face him, his eyes, boring into my, shone brightly as he tilted my face towards his…lowering his lips towards mine for one, gentle kiss….

"Suze."

I blinked. Jesse never called me Suze.

"Suze." It was a male's voice, I soon realized, but not Jesse's. Jesse's was deeper, warmer, _silkier._

"Suze." I turned over.

This was followed by a groan, a woman, this time, who said, "Ugh, let me do this..." I felt someone turn me back over, slapping softly the side of my face.

"SIMON!"

I sat up, abruptly. "What?"

"Suze," it was Gina, "what is wrong with you? I mean, are youdrunk, or something? Because Helen and Andy will be mega pissed at me if they find out that I showed up at their doorstop with theirnineteen-year-old daughter,who just _happened_ to be heavily intoxicated."

"No." I snapped, brushing away the hand that she waved in front of my eyes, no doubt in an effort to counter my vision. As if making me dizzy helps me, when I'm 'heavily intoxicated.'

"God." I brought a hand to my forehead, feeling hot, though I had no recollection why. I wasn't stoned, now was I? I mean, I _had _had a couple more drinks than was necessary, on that plane ride, but not enough to be completely drunk, not to mention get myself wasted withoutmy knowledge.

But then again, you never knew when you got wasted, at least, not until the next morning's hangover.

Ah, the joys of college life.

"Hey." Chris' voice was gentle in my ear. I tried remembering more moments like this. Ones that I was sure had occurred, at least five or six times in my life, when this guy had come through for me, but I couldn't. All I could do was to compare _that _voice, the one I hadn't heard for so long, to his, and marvel at the obvious differences in tone. Chris didn't have a voice that was silky, smooth, soft. His was not a voice that was so capable of rendering me speechless, breathless, utterly lost.

And I was thankful. Who needed someone like that, anyway? They took away all your power. Your control.

I fell back to earth, feeling the soft pull of Chris' fingers on my sleeve. "Hey," he was still saying, "are you feeling okay?"

I looked up at him, feeling a sudden rush of gratefulness for the gentle voice he was using. A rush of love for those soft, blue eyes. I didn't need, I realized, a love that was dreamy, passionate, love that left me utterly astounded, breathless and still.

I needed this. I needed security. To feel safe.

I needed Chris. That was all.

"Hey." I whispered, "Yeah. I'm fine." I smiled at him. A true smile, something that I was positive I was incapable of conjuring for the past few months.

"More than fine," I said, "I have you."

Chris smiled, a gorgeous smile, one that sent my heart singing. Or maybe that was the headache I felt. Not that it matters. "You," he muttered, shaking his head, "really are high." He offered me his hand, and I took it, letting him pull me up.

"Come on, your mom's waiting for you."

----

"So," I managed to mutter, taking a tiny bit out of the biscuit she offered me. We were having tea, apparently, in honor of my arrival. Honestly, tea. Those gynecologists and health specialists were obviously getting to her. At least, if all those aromatherapy candles—not to mention the mounds of pregnancy books that were stacked messily under the glass-topped coffee table—were of any indication. "How far along have you been?"

She smiled, and it goes all the way up to her ears. "Four months," she said, "the baby's due in April."

"Oh," I said. And then, "Why didn't you tell me?"

I must've looked betrayed, or sad, or whatever, since she placed a hand over mine, saying softly, "I'm sorry, honey, but, well—" She stopped for a moment, obviously trying to envision my reaction, to whatever it was she had to tell me next. "Well—we didn't know how you'd take it, being gone for so long, and then, I guess, not too well, since you just fainted, right on the—"

"Mom." I said, in a steady voice. "You should've told me. I was surprised, is all. I mean, I know I've been away at college, and it's been awhile since we've all seen each other. But you could've at least told me, over the phone."

She smiled, this time ruefully, and I noticed how sad it looks, that smile. I wanted her to smile happily, always. "I know." She said, "and I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

An awkward silence overtook us, and I glanced around the living room, picking up all the little changes along the way. They were the tiny details, little things; that had been moved, discarded or replaced since I left. The knick-knacks that once stood on the mantle were now pictures, Dopey's and mine, taken at graduation. The many plants my mother had once owned now replaced with bookshelves, containing paperbacks on infant-care, and Indonesian cooking.

My mother had moved on, alright. I wondered if I really knew her anymore.

"So, what's new with you?"

The question was such an opener. My mind instantly flashed to the number of courses I had taken that summer, all the A.P. classes, all the hard work. I wanted to tell her, to explain all the stuff I did, how I met Chris, but suddenly it seemed unimportant, lesser in value, compared to her own experiences. I felt like she would disparage me in some way, if I were to tell her.

"Oh, not much," I said, "same old everything. Same old me."

"Well," I felt her hand come over mine again, "I'm glad you're back."

I nodded. There was a lump in my throat, all of a sudden, and I took a sip of tea, hoping to clear it. "Yeah. Me too."

After awhile, she suggested that I go up stairs, and Doc followed behind, helping with some of my bags. Fortunately, Andy had put dinner on hold, stubbornly waiting until he could have _everyone_ back at the dinner table again.

We reached the top of the steps, pushing all my suitcases against the wall, and stopped. Gasping for air. I guess I had over packed, or something, since it all felt like a ton. This time, Doc had remarked, I really did smuggle fire hydrants.

"Suze," he said, peering up at me, though this time I wasn't that far up. Doc had undergone a growth spurt, since I was gone. I was only two inches taller now, him being a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old. "Suze, you're different."

I laughed, ruffling his hair playfully. He looked a bit annoyed, smoothing it over with his palm, and going, "Jesus, man, I just styled it."

Again, I chuckled, the thought of Doc going all Backstreet Boy (A/N: Just for clarification, I LOVE BSB, so I'm not dissing them or anything. I LOVE Never Gone, and I love Climbing the Walls, and I love Safest Place to Hide and all that stuff) just a little too strange for my peace of mind. But when I mentioned this, he only scowled at me sourly, crossing his arms over his chest, just like he did when he was younger.

"Alright," I said, deciding to cut him a little bit of slack, "so how am I different?"

"Well," he said, looking a little thoughtful. Doc, I realized was going to be a heartbreaker one day. As soon as he stopped gelling his hair like Lance, from Nsync. "Your hair is longer. And much shinier, and I guess you're skinnier, than when you were sixteen."

"Hey!" I punched him playfully on his shoulder. "I was _not _fat."

"Of course not."

"Whatever." I said. "And what else? Have my eyes changed color, too?"

"Well, no." He said, putting on an adorable pout. "But you know? They are a bit stranger."

"Stranger?"

He looked at me. "You look sad, Suze."

Sad. How, I wondered, was I sad-looking? But when I asked him this, Doc did not reply. Instead he asked me if I needed help unpacking.

"No, thank you." I murmured, feeling suddenly lost.

"All right." He said, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

He stomped down the steps, stopping a few moments later to look at me, as I stood, blankfaced in the hallway.

I could feel his gaze boring into me from where I stood, a couple feet away from my bedroom door, burning the side of my face as he traveled slowly down the staircase, the footsteps gradually getting softer and softer, until they faded altogether, the only sound belonging to the shrill ringing in my ears, as I wondered, for a long time, what he meant.

----

It was the door, of course, that did it.

Which, looking back, was utterly ridiculous. I mean, this wasn't like some kind of thing, back in junior year, when I was young, innocent, and oh-so-impressionable. I was a grown woman, now, and yet—I still couldn't face my past.

I don't even know how it happened. How it could be, that I had so easily lost my ground. I mean, I was ready—more than ready—to move on. With Chris.

Yet somehow, staring at the door that led to all those memories, all the pain, I just—couldn't do it. It was like, if I opened that door, I didn't know what I would unlock. All my old demons from the past could come out and haunt me. Sister Ernestine, Paul, Jesse…

I couldn't take the chance—I didn't have enough trust, enough faith, to know, to be sure that everything was going to be all right. I mean, I had taken Epic and Myth in high school. We all know what happened with Pandora's box. There's no way to reverse the effect.

When it happens, it happens. It ends the same way.

So I just stood there, staring at the maple wood that my stepfather had so lovingly painted cream. Stood there for about ten minutes, until I heard Chris say, "Suze?"

I blinked. How long had he been there? I looked at him with what I hoped was a completely bewildered expression.

"Honey," he said—why does he call me that?—"what's the hold-up? Go ahead inside."

My gaze flickered again to the door. It looked so innocent there in the hallway; no one would ever suspect that this cream-colored threshold would be the thing that brought me back down. I couldn't. Could I?

I fiddled with my necklace. It was the one that Andy had given me, the day of our high school graduation. Engraved with my name, the date, and the occasion. It was the first time, I realized, that he'd special ordered me a gift. It made me flush with joy.

I wore it the day I got on that plane, the one that flew me back to Brooklyn, and I wore it here now, for the exact same reason. It gave me courage, like a strength amulet. It made me feel braver, which helped, even if it didn't match my clothes.

"Umm…" I said, running my finger up and down the silver chain, "I don't know. I guess I'm just kind of overwhelmed."

Chris looked at me questioningly.

I went, casually, "So many memories, you know?" and chuckled, uneasily.

"Oh." He said. But I could tell he didn't exactly believe me. The thing about Chris is, he doesn't pick. He leaves things the way they are, no need to ruin it, you know? "Uh, you want me to wait downstairs?"

I flashed him my best, forced, smile. "Yeah, thanks." He just looked at me with a worried expression on his face before turning at the railing and going down the steps.

I waited until I couldn't hear any footsteps and placed my hand on the knob of the door.

You can do this, I thought. I took a deep breath.

The door opened with a creak.

----

_Don't know what I was looking for _

_when I went home, I found me alone _

_And sometimes I need someone to say, _

_"You'll be all right. What's on your mind?" _

_But the water's shallow here and I am full of fear, _

_and empty handed after two long years _

_"Jesse," he said, not moving. _

_"What?" _

_"You called me amigo. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Jesse."_

I stepped into the room cautiously, as if I were too loud I'd break the silent ambience, everything that had been stored here for the past two years.

It was like looking at a part of the world that time had missed. Passed over, even. Let go. Standing in that room, I was sixteen again.

I trailed my fingers over the glass-topped dressing table, smiling as I came across the stain that my emerald-green nail polish had made on the edge of the right corner. Nothing had been moved, not the princess phone on my bedside table, or the lamp by the wall—which was decorated with cream-colored wallpaper; dotted with blue forget-me-nots. Nothing had faded, the colors still bold, and sweet. For a moment I suspected that my mother had gone out of her way to fix it up, for reminiscent purposes.

But she wouldn't do that. My mom loved me, but not to the point of self-nuisance. She was, of course, still four months pregnant, not to mention in her late 40s.

Everything was going great, going fine, until I saw the window seat.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. He turned a little and put a boot up onto the pale blue cushion that covered the window seat, and I saw definite proof that yes, ghosts could indeed have six-packs. His abdominal muscles were deeply ridged, and covered with a light dusting of silky black hair.

I don't know what it was; maybe seeing the place where I saw Jesse almost every night, or just getting a good look at that view, but within a matter of seconds, I was tearing.

I sat down on my bed, hard. Gravity was increasing on me. I couldn't have gotten up if I tried.

"Simon."

I looked up. Gina was standing in the doorway, a worried look on her face.

I tried to collect myself. She came over quietly, as if she understood that everything needed to be done this way, and put her arms around me. I didn't pull away. For the past few years, I had been retreating every time someone tried to comfort me. Taking everything and tucking it out of sight, hidden, to everyone else but me.

But this time, I think I just needed it. Needed her, to comfort me this one time. Needed to let everything out, before I lost it.

Iput my head against her shoulder, and she pulled me closer. I could feel her heart beating, slow and steady. "He's gone," I whispered, in a voice hoarse from the silent sobs. It was strange, how long it took for that to finally sink in.

"I know," she said.

"I miss him."

"…I know."

_Another sunny day in Californ-i-a _

_I'm sure back home they'd love to see it _

_But they don't know that what you love is ripped away _

Before you get a chance to feel it 


	3. Atavism

The stuff that'sbold areflashbacks. :)) The song in italics is_ My Immortal._ (Even though it's not as cool as Mindy Smith's _One Moment More_.)

* * *

Chapter three: Atavism

A lot can happen in two years. People change, people grow, regardless of whether or not you're around. I took careful note of this as I sat, once again, at the Ackerman's dinner table, trying not to smile atSleepy, who's ever-lingering gaze towards Gina's direction left him goofy-eyed and paralyzed, his fork hanging mid-air whenever she contributed to a conversation.

Orat my mother, now in her 4th month of pregnancy (scary, I know), who gazed lovingly in Chris' direction, a secret smile dancing upon her face.

We were acting like nothing had changed, but of course, everything had.

When I left Carmel, I didn't consider what I would miss out on back home. I never really thought about how I would react to coming back to this place, partly because, well, after all that happened, I didn't plan on coming back.

I left Carmel, the Mission, my family, home, for one reason and one reason only: Jesse.

And that reason was still there, lingering in the back of my mind, hidden in that little box where I kept all my secrets, all the memories I tried to leave behind.

That box has not been opened in over two years, and here I was, letting the contents seep through again.

I had to shut it. Close it, before it was too late. Before a recollection of all that's happened crept back into my head. Before I let them lead me back down memory lane.

_No,_ I told myself, _don't you dare think about it. _But by then, it was already too late.

— — —

**(A/N: Okay, so this was supposed to**** be in Sweet Misery, but I'm not doing that story anymore since it's so unrealistic and stupid and because I hate how I wrote it. No offense though, to those who liked it. I love you all the best.) **

**He didn't notice me until I was about a foot away from him. The moon shone blue highlights in his hair, shadowing his features. And yet, you could tell, he was just as hot.**

**He stood up and tried to dematerialize. I reached out and grabbed his hand.**

**Cradling it with both of my own, I said, "I'm here to say 'goodbye.' "**

**He looked at me, his eyes bright. I don't think he even noticed how messed up I looked. They were still the same, his eyes. Still as dark and inscrutable as when I first met him. "Goodbye." He said, his voice as soft as the wind, "I'll miss you."**

**I looked down and dropped his hand. Nothing could've been harder than this in my life. "I'll miss you too." I focused my attention on the Steve Maddens in my hands. "I also wanted to say 'Thanks,' " I whispered, my voice cracking. "You know, for everything you've done for me. You've always been there, when I needed someone. I mean, if it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead or something."**

**I looked down onto the ground. There were wet marks on the sand from where my tears had fallen. Also dripping from my hair. I started to turn when I felt his hand touch my cheek. Just like in the hospital so many months ago, he grazed it gently with the backs of his fingers. I choked, trying to contain the sobs.**

**"Susannah," he said, "it is I who should be thanking you."**

**This time I couldn't help it, a sob exploded from me as I threw my arms around his neck. He froze. I don't think I'd ever hugged Jesse before. It was probably bad timing to start now, when I was all wet and covered in sand, but soon his hands encircled my waist gently, his entire body trembling, but warm.**

**We stood there, crying and hugging, until finally, I pulled away, and met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine tears. "I meant what I said that day, in the graveyard," I took a breath, "and I still mean it." I'll always mean it, I wanted to say, but that would just make things harder.**

**He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "I'll never forget you," I whispered.**

**I took one last look at him, and breathed it all in. His knee-high cowboy boots and tight fitting pants, his open collared shirt, showing, unbeknownst to him, his incredible six-pack. I took one last look at his perfectly chiseled face, the scar on his right eyebrow, his crispy black hair, his dark cavernous eyes… and then proceeded to run.**

_**These wounds won't seem to heal, **_

_**This pain is just too real, **_

_**There's just too much that time cannot erase. **_

_**When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears, **_

_**When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your tears. **_

_**And I've held your hand for all of these years… **_

_**But you still have all of me.** _

— — —

"Suze? Hello? Yo! Simon! You in there?"

I looked up. Once again, Gina was fervently waving her palm in my face. "What?" I said, brushing it away. I had no right to be annoyed with her, I know, but I had a tendency to be grumpy after sudden flashbacks.

"We're going to the beach," she said, "to watch the sunset. Chris was wondering if you wanted to come with."

The beach. I looked around the dinner table. All the plates were cleared, mine being the only exception. They must've been long gone. I wondered just how long I had been out of it. What would they say about me?

"No." I murmured, "its okay. I'm sort of tired, I think from the flight." I looked up at her anxious face. "Jetlag, you know."

"Oh." She said, her lips making the shape of a perfect O. "Well, then maybe you should go to sleep."

We cleared the last of the table in silence, not looking at one another as we pushed in the chairs. Outside I could hear a horn honking, waiting for Gina to leave.

I walked her to the door, and she put on her coat. "Listen," she said, as I started up the stairs, "Suze."

Turning around, I saw that she was already halfway outside, looking nervous and rather tense. My roommate was always worried about me too. "Hmm?" I said, not moving as my left hand gripped the railing. It was my plan to go upstairs and hit the lights, as soon as I heard their car exit the driveway.

"If you have a hard time sleeping," she muttered, "you could always go to my room."

It was an open suggestion, but I knew what she was thinking. Why would it be hard to sleep in my own? It wasn't like certain members of the dead were constantly visiting anymore.

"I'm fine, Gina." I gave her a grateful smile. "You don't need to worry about me."

But she was right, I guess. I couldn't sleep that night, not as they pulled out of the driveway, or when I heard them come back, an hour later. I lay in bed for a long time, listening to the music booming from Doc's stereo…until that was gone too, and the only things left to take note of were the sounds of crickets, chirping in the night.

—

I woke up the next morning feeling loopy and out of place.

The sun was already spilling into my room, and as I got up to close the windows, I realized that people were already out there on that strip of beach.

Dressing quickly, in a tiered skirt from Bebe and a sweater set from Banana Republic (40 from Gilroy Premium outlets, courtesy of Gina as a 'Welcome Back' present), I went downstairs to find that no one was at home.

Which was just fine, really. After everything that had happened the day before, the shock of it all, it was probably best that I sat down and had some alone time anyway.

After walking in circles for the first half hour, I finally resolved to sit down and watch some TV. After all, it _was_ summer. Nothing to do but enjoy it, right?

Apparently Chris had checked himself into the Carmel Inn last night—according to the note my mom left on the refrigerator—so I was away from that, too. Not that I didn't enjoy spending time with my boyfriend of course. I just—don't want _too_ much time.

But after flipping through countless channels on HBO, and watching way too many sappy versions of the _Young and the Restless_, I realized that perhaps I needed to get myself a job, like Gina and Sleepy.

Maybe someplace nice like the Gap, or something.

They would probably give me employee discounts, too.  
—

Nobody comes home until around six later that night, and by then I had turned into a regular couch potato.

The strangest thing was that the entire time, whilst I was wasting away to John Mayer and watching old reruns of _Friends_, I honestly did not feel the least bit alone.

In fact it wasn't until I caught Gina and Sleepy making out—and doing whoknowswhatelse—in the hallway closet that I did feel a pang of something.

Dinner was held that night on the patio, in honor of my return so that we could—as my mom put it—'talk and rewind a bit'. But as soon as we were out there, listening to the lapping of the waves—which was either from the beach, or one of my mom's Zen tapes—there was really nothing left to say.

Something was growing up inside of me, like a force, willing to push itself out, whatever it was. All of a sudden, I really did feel okay.

A lot may happen in two years, and realistically; heartaches may take longer to mend. Though I honestly thought, sitting there with Mom and Andy on the side patio, talking with Gina and Sleepy about my psyche course next year, and eating Andy's famous Chicken and Steak quesidillas, that everything was going to be just fine.

But of course I was wrong.


	4. Apparitions

Chapter four: Apparitions

It was around two 0' clock when I first saw him.

I was coming home from a major kegger at CeeCee and Adam's house, totally wasted, so that I was actually seeing double. Chris, God bless him, had to carry me up the stairs, since I was so drunk, I couldn't even walk straight.

I don't usually drink so much, just to let you know. In fact, apart from the plane ride (and even _that _was composed of multiple cups of apple cider) and the party we had at CeeCee's on graduation night, this incident was the only time I had actually taken in more than one cup of underage booze. I don't even understand what drove me to drinking in the first place. I was wandering down one of the long, empty hallways of their huge, somewhat mansion-like house (actually it was Adam's, left over from a family inheritance) when I felt something shimmer at my side, and I swear I heard my name.

This all would've been habitual two years ago, back when Jesse and I were still together (kicking ghost-butt, I mean). But after the last one, after everything that had happened with her, I think they knew not to come to me anymore. I wasn't Suze Simon, mediator. How could I help anyone, when I couldn't even figure out myself? _One minute he was standing in the doorway… _

Heart racing, I walked back towards the music, striding across the carpeted floor and grabbed the first drink that I could find.

Alcohol burned down my throat as I chugged, and almost immediately, reached for another one. I was downing my third when I felt a hand at my sides. "Suze," Chris said. "Whoa there, Babe. I think that's enough."

"No." I remember saying. "No. It's not over." He turned me around to face him, and I leaned against his chest, falling into his arms. The cup fell to the floor. "No." I whispered, to myself. "No, he's not gone."

The bodies were swirling, colors mixing before my eyes. I felt him steady me from beind.

"Come on," he said. I felt him leading me, shielding me from the gyrating bodies as we parted the crowd. "Hey Alex! Get her coat, will ya? Thanks, man." He draped it over my shoulders.

I remember the cool air of the parking lot, a rush of sanity breathing over me as he led me to his car. I remember leaning in to kiss him, but getting his nose because I was so tipsy. He watched as I sat down in the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt. His kiss on my forehead was chaste, almost sad, in a way.

_What had I said? _

The car ride was soothing, and I fell asleep.

- - -

Chris was carrying me across the hallway to my room, trying to stifle my giggles as I tried, unsuccessfully, to unbutton his shirt. Susannah Simon is a cheap drunk.

He tucked me into bed, and despite my protests, was heading out the door.

It was at this time, after hearing the door shut, that I remember seeing him sitting on the window seat.

Just like he always had. Petting Spike, as though he had never left. The moonlight was shining blue in his hair.

I recognized the look on his face from all those times when he was disappointed in me, like when he'd catch me lying to my mom about my homework, or when I sicked those RLS angels on Michael Meducci. It was a look that my dad used to give me, kind of like, 'Susannah, you know better than this.' It was a look that told me he was angry with me, but that he loved me anyway.

"Bullshit." I had said. Or maybe I had only thought it.

I blinked at him, at first uncomprehending, and then, placing a hand upon my forehead, had muttered, "God, now I'm delusional."

I fell back against the pillows. When I looked back, he was gone.

Poof, just like that. I didn't even hear Spike's paws against the roof. Like all it had been was some weird dream.

And that's what I thought it was, until I saw him again.

- - -

The next time I was completely awake. And sober.

I was just coming out of the bathroom after a long hot shower, getting ready to go out with Chris and take him sight seeing around Carmel. We were planning to take a trip down to the Mission afterwards to pay a visit to Father D.

The fifth day we were in Carmel, Chris had asked me to move in to him. His roommate Eric was leaving for London when school started, and he had an extra room in his flat.

I didn't know what to say. We had talked about it before in New York, and he thought it was the right time. He thought we were good for each other. He thought I was the one.

Chris, my boyfriend. The one who had said 'I love you.' I can still remember the hurt in his eyes when I didn't say it back.

I told him I'd think about it. This was a big step. There were lots of things that could go wrong, once a couple moved in together. What would my parents think? How would I explain this to Caddy, back at the dormitory?

And the voice, screaming, in the back of my head. _What about Jesse?_ It shrieked. _What about Jesse?_

Okay, you can hit me now.

I just about wanted to hit myself. _What about him?_ Said another voice in my head. This was the one that talked me out of spending too much. _What has Jesse ever done for you?_

He left. That's Jesse. He left you, knowing full well you loved him. He left you. He had never loved you back.

As soon as I saw Chris' car leave the driveway, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and ran. Past the trees, across the green grass—I was running, breathing hard under the mid-afternoon sun, feeling the pain in my legs and the beat of my feet against the pavement. The sidewalk to our house ran uphill, and my Jimmy Choos were getting stuck along the cracks. Suddenly I wanted more than anything to trip and fall hard, against the concrete—to scrape my skin and to lie down, helplessly in the middle of the road. I wanted to feel physical pain, to bleed—anything to take my mind off the emotions bubbling inside of my chest.

That's how much of a loser I am. Because I know that I still love him.

So much that I can still picture his face perfectly. So much that I still think about him at least once a day. So much that I went berserk that time when I thought I had lost his miniature. That's how much of a loser I am. I am that girl who sunk her claws into somebody and never let go.

It's been two years, and I still haven't let go.

- - -

_What about Jesse? _

It was three O' clock, and I was lying smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. My hair was a mess. And my stomach was growling.

Somehow I couldn't get up until my question was answered. What had happened to the strong Suze? The one who wouldn't take shit from anyone? What had happened to the Suze who was near recovering, who was happy to be home?

You can still be her, a voice said. You don't need him, now. You don't need anyone.

My stomach growled as I sat up. The world swung before me at dizzying rates, but almost immediately, I felt my vision clear.

_What about Jesse? _

_Nothing._ I thought. _Not even nothing. A big_ fat _nothing._

It took me about an hour to walk to the Carmel Crown. Three minutes to ask the concierge the number of his room. Two minutes in the elevator and running across the hallway.

And thirty seconds before he answered the door, greeting me with those baby blues.

I pushed him in and kissed him, closing the door behind us. We fell back against the wall, his lips on my neck, my hands along his back and in his hair.

"Suze." He whispered as we came up for air. "What—"

I silenced him with another deep kiss. "Yes." I said, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Confusion flooded his eyes before they widened in comprehension. "Yes?" He breathed. "Really, Suze? You wanna move in with me?"

I don't know what came over me. In that moment he looked so sweet and sincere, his eyes sparkling and so loving. This was Chris, who'd_ never_, ever hurt me. Even if it never felt like love, wasn't this the best thing that there was?

I kissed him in reply. And then we didn't say anything for a long time.

- - -

It wasn't until I was falling asleep that night that I realized I might have behaved rashly.

In retrospect, you could even say that it was actually a pretty bad idea. It certainly felt like one when I walked out of the bathroom the next morning and found Jesse, sitting on the window seat.

And this time he didn't disappear.


	5. While You Were Away

Chapter five: While You Were Away

At first it didn't register in my mind that he was actually here. I thought I was having another hallucination. I stood there for a while, kind of blank, and then just shook my head and started combing my hair. I had cut it the moment I got back to New York that summer; chopped it off right next to my ears so that I couldn't feel his fingertips stroking it any longer.

I stood there, combing the ends of my hair, until I noticed in the reflection of the mirror that he was still there. Which was weird, because well, I'd never been delusional for _that_ long.

So I walked right up to him and poked him in the chest. You know, to prove to myself that what I was seeing was real. That I wasn't just having another trance, that I wasn't just picturing everything was normal.

I did that a lot, the first year he was gone.

When I came home from school I would picture him on the window seat, and I would think of all the things I'd say to him. I'd picture myself telling him about a new ghost I had encountered, or about all the stupid things Paul had tried to pull after he found out Jesse was gone. And then I'd picture him holding me and reassuring me, him telling me he'd never let anything happen to me. Which is dumb, because he never actually did that in real life. The closest thing we had to that was just that one last kiss.

I had once let slip that I did this, picturing Jesse, to Father Dominic, who was very much alarmed. He warned me that this wasn't healthy, and made me promise to tell him whenever I had another one of these 'fantasies' as he called it. And after that incident they just sort of stopped. Admittance, he said, was one of the first steps to overcoming denial.

But there were times when I could swear I saw him again, sitting on the window seat, watching me sleep. It happened so often that I took a habit of pretending to sleep sometimes, late at night. I'd lie there as quiet as possible, trying to control my breathing, head turned towards the window seat. Every once in a while I'd sneak a peek. Sometimes he'd be there, sometimes he wouldn't. But it was something I looked forward to during the day.

I guess there were a lot of logical explanations as to why I saw him. Obviously, he couldn't really be there. He had, like Father Dominic said, had himself exorcised the night I was rescued. Or I should say, he rescued me.

So maybe I was imagining everything, maybe I was delusional. It certainly felt like it sometimes, those nights when I would sit up and wait for him, refusing to fall asleep until I caught a glimpse of his face. Those times, I most likely was, without a doubt, really far gone.

Or maybe, and I chose to believe this theory a bit more, it was because I needed to see him. Needed that one glimpse of his face, the tiniest flicker of his smile. Needed it to go on, needed _him_ to go on.

It was around senior year that I saw him for the last time. I had just put the finishing touches on an entrance essay for the New York University—where I ended up going, majoring in psychology—and was just getting into bed, when I saw him sitting on the window seat.

It was already three; the moonlight was ominously shining through the blinds and playing tricks on his perfectly sculpted face. I can still remember exactly what he looked like. His expression was somber: his eyes—two dark, cavernous caves, the highlights in his hair a pale blue.

"Jesse…" I whispered. He looked up at me, his dark eyes pleading. He met my gaze and held it for what was most likely just a millisecond, but felt like much longer.

And then he was gone. As if he'd never been there in the first place. I told myself it was just my imagination, but I never saw him again, imagination or not. And a few months later, I went away to college. Started over, moved on.

But now he was back, I was sure of it. Not because I was fully awake this time that I saw him, but because my hand didn't go through his chest.

"Jesse…" I breathed. It felt weird, calling out to him in a situation where he actually existed. There had been too many nights where I woke up around three a.m., only to find Caddy, sitting up in the bed next to mine with an inquisitive look on her face.

He didn't say anything, but his gaze had never left mine. "Jesse," I said again, "Jesse, are you really here?"

He nodded, but was silent. I felt his eyes roaming over my features, taking in their changes for the first time in three years – the wrinkles appearing on my forehead, my short, choppy hair. The way my hands were shaking at my sides, the weariness of my shoulders. The hickey Chris had left on my neck.

I shivered. Wow, I really hope he didn't recognize what that was.

He reached out a hand towards my face, perhaps hoping to stroke it—or so I imagine—but I stepped back, sitting down hard on my bed.

For some reason I couldn't stop shivering, or suppress the tears that filled my eyes. The whole thing was far too reminiscent of the last time I had spoken to him.

That night on the beach; where we said goodbye.

It's nice to know that ghosts don't change; they stay as hot as they were when you last saw them. Jesse hadn't changed, grown old and cynical. Jesse hadn't felt the pain that was eating away at my chest. Jesse was Jesse, plain and simple. The same unearthly being that had haunted me since I was sixteen years old. The same presence that just wouldn't let me go.

I could feel tears globbing up as they trailed down the sides of my face. All of a sudden I felt too dirty, too tainted under his gaze. Too broken.

_He did this to you. _

I ran downstairs and grabbed the keys to the Land Rover. I got in the car and stuck the key in, desperately trying to remember how to drive the freaking thing. My vision was blurring before my eyes. I grabbed wrenched open the glove compartment, hoping to find a pack of Kleenex, anything.

Condoms. A giant box of Trojans fell onto the passenger seat._ Extra-ribbed for her pleasure._

It was hoarse and unrecognizable, the sound that first escaped my lips. _Oh no_, I thought. _Now I've really lost it. _Five seconds ago I was bawling my heart out, and now I couldn't stop laughing.

Who knows how long I sat there in the Land Rover, reveling in the mixture of laughter and tears that was my emotional breakdown. I think it was around noon when I regained my sense of sanity. Then I turned the key and headed towards the mission.

I had some things to discuss with a certain priest that lived there.


End file.
